Winter Chill

Chapter 1--First Week

He stared at the clock as the minutes ticked by. Tick, tick, tick. This part of class always seemed to last an eternity, at least to his 11-year-old mind. Not only was it terribly boring, but he knew what came afterward. It wasn't good.

As soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of school, Tuck wasted no time. He ran out the classroom door and quickly escaped through the school's heavy exit doors, the cold winter air biting his face. There was a clamor behind him as the bullies pushed away kids in an attempt to catch up to him. He wouldn't let them catch him today. No, not today. Today, he would go home without a black eye. Today, his mom wouldn't have to worry about him. Today, his mom could just relax.

As he was rounding the corner of the school, he slipped on some ice, but quickly managed to regain his footing. Regardless, the bullies behind him had advanced. He would have to run faster.

His lungs and thighs burned as he ran for all he was worth. He could hear the bullies behind him beginning to breath hard as well, though they were quickly gaining on him. Despite being in the same grade, they were a year older than him, which gave them an unfair advantage in this chase: they had longer legs.

Tuck made the last turn before he would reach his home, and, when he was only three houses away, he slipped on ice once again, this time falling painfully to the ground. His knee was burning as the bullies finally caught up to him.

"Hey there, loser," the first bully, Jackson, said. He was a large, overweight kid with dark brown hair and freckles covering his face. He was the one in charge of the other two bullies. They seemed glued to him and wore his same sadistic expression.

"Hey, Jackson," Tuck sighed.

"What should we do to you today? Jackson pondered, actually rubbing his chin in thought. Normally, Tuck might have found that comical, but he wasn't in the mood.

"You could let me go home," Tuck suggested, not really entertaining any hope that they would.

"That's not happening," snorted one of Jackson's lackeys. He was as unpleasant in appearance as he was in spirit. He had an unnaturally long nose that jutted out from his face at an awkward angle and dark, slitted eyes. "We're going to beat the shit out of you, kid." He looked toward Jackson for approval, and, as they were all facing away from him, Tuck took his chance to run. Just as his legs were below him and he was about to begin running away from them, his feet slipped out from under him again, and he hit the ground twice as hard as before.

Jackson, who had only moments ago looked enraged, laughed, and his lackeys followed suit. Jackson was the first to get physical. He planted a kick directly into Tuck's side. Tuck let out a small groan, which spread a wicked grin across Jackson's face. He kicked him again and again, and it wasn't long before his lackeys joined in, inflicting thrice the pain upon Tuck.

They left after giving him a few last kicks for good measure. Jackson had spat on him, and Tuck could feel the warm saliva run down his face, as well as some blood. He no longer had any energy to wipe it away. He laid down for what felt like hours before getting up and walking the last few houses to his place. He opened the front door.

His mother had been waiting in the kitchen. Upon hearing the door open, she ran in, immediately taking in Tuck's appearance. "Oh my," she exclaimed. "What happened to you?" She took him in her arms and hugged him tightly. It hurt, but he ignored the pain. He inhaled her fragrance and felt the warmth of her love, and, finally, he felt alright. This was his mom. He had to be strong for her.

"What on earth happened to you?" she demanded, pulling him away from her chest and holding his face in her hands. He heard her, but he wasn't paying very good attention. For some reason, he found himself analyzing her, as if he were trying to memorize her face. She was beautiful without a doubt. Though some of her features were mouse-like (especially her nose, which hooked up at an arc), it seemed to suit her. She had beautiful, flowing brown hair and freckles along her nose that also matched her remarkably well.

She shook him slightly. "Tucker Johnson, you better answer me, or so help me god," she said worriedly.

It took the rest of his energy, but he managed to smile and lie directly to his loving mom. She had enough to worry about. "I just slipped on the ice is all. It hurt for a bit, but I'm okay now."

Her eyes searched his for a long time. She didn't seem to believe him. Regardless, she accepted his story. "Okay, honey. Let's get you cleaned up." She took him into the kitchen, where she wiped a warm rag against his face, cleaning the blood and the frozen saliva from his cheek. "You'll have a black eye," she told him. "But other than that, you should be fine."

He was happy she hadn't checked his body, where she would have discovered plenty of other bruises.

"Thanks, mom," Tuck said. After dinner, he escaped to his room, where he removed his clothes to expose the bruises beneath. Some of them were a discolored yellow around the edges, which he assumed couldn't be very good. He sighed and crawled under his covers, hoping to catch some sleep. Unfortunately, he never did. The pain never left him.

What a great first week of school.